Dear Alfred
by ReconditeVillain
Summary: Arthur was left behind when his boyfriend disappeared at sea, trying to manage a somewhat functional life even though he can barley cope with the thought of never seeing Alfred again. Somehow, thanks to Francis perhaps, he manages to move on, only to have everything fall apart when Alfred walks into his life once more. UsUk, FrUk and RusAme. Rated M for later chapters.


**Chapter 1 - Letter from a lover**

_**July 5, 20XX**_

_Dear Alfred,_

_It's been a year since you went away now. Since I last held you in my arms and kissed your lips before telling you to be safe. It's been a year since I waved you off standing at the shore, even long after your ship had disappeared in the horizon and until the sun started to set. It has been a year since I for the first time laid in our bed alone, knowing you wouldn't be back for months. _

_It's been forty one weeks and two days since I got a knock on the door from the marine. Forty one weeks and two days since I broke down crying in the doorway with a letter of condolence in my hands, and nothing but a pat on my shoulder and a closed door to keep me from dying inside. _

_Forty one weeks and one day since your brother came here to grieve with me (and I screamed in his face and spat on the ground before him; told him to go to hell because nothing could ever be good in the world again). Since he held me close and let me cry in his arms. He cried with me until late at night, telling me that you had loved me so much and that you couldn't have had any better._

_It has been thirty eight weeks and five days since we buried an empty casket with your name on the tombstone. (An empty casket that was supposed to give me closure and ability to continue my life without you.) Since I stroke the cold, polished wood that was supposed to resemble your warm, weather beaten skin. It was the worst casket possible to tell your story, but it was the same that every deceased marine had gotten and I feel guilty to this day that I didn't get a proper one for you, for your memory._

_Thirty eight weeks and five days since I received your medallion from the Master Sergeant, a medallion for your bravery and for giving your life to your country._

_It has been thirty one weeks on the day since I first went to a psychiatrist, to help me find closure or at least numb the pain without the help of alcohol or prescribed medication. _

_Thirty weeks since I spat in the psychiatrist's face after he tried to get me to talk about you - asking questions far too personal to talk about with someone who isn't you. _

_It has been twenty seven weeks and two days since I stopped going out at all. Since I finally realised that there was no point in doing anything since no matter what I do I will never see your face or your smile again. Not hear your voice when you laughed and call me a dork in that lovable way that you do - that way that makes my stomach flutter every time I hear it._

_Twenty two weeks since I was hospitalised for malnutrition and alcohol abuse._

_Nineteen since I got home again, on the condition that I would check in regularly and always answer my phone when they called._

_It has been fourteen weeks since the backfall._

_Five since I got out, under strict monitoring and with obligatory meetings with a new psychiatric. A woman this time. _

_It has been one day since I first spoke to her, and I first was able to utter your name (which she hasn't done, maybe that's why I can stand her). I told her that I would never be able to forget you, or get over you, and she said that I didn't have to. That that wasn't what was important. She told me to try to write to you if I could, and I said that I would try._

_I miss you._

_Yours forever,_

_Arthur._

_**July 23, 20XX**_

_Dear Alfred,_

_The sun is shining outside just like on our first date, remember?_

_It was the beginning of May, five years ago, and I had just gotten rid of my braces, which I had been so embarrassed about. You had brought burgers and french fries from McDonald's and I glared at you before snarling 'romantic', frowning at your stupid face. I remember that you laughed and ruffled my hair, happily stating that there would be more for you in that case. I remember huffing at you and taking half of it, eating like you would have taken it away from me and eaten it yourself (to this day, I still think you would have). I remember thinking that it probably was the best day ever when you kissed me, leaving ketchup on my lips that you then licked away._

_You told me to smile for you, and I did._

_I smiled the whole day - on my way home, while doing my homework and with my siblings fighting over something stupid around me, while I showered and when I went to bed. I think I was even smiling as I woke up, made breakfast and went to school._

_I remember the look you gave me when I saw you at the second period that day: the wink and the smile, which I responded to. You made me laugh with your surprised face and then we skipped the lesson and snogged in a bathroom stall, almost getting caught by the janitor. It was really, really stupid of us and so cliche that I honestly don't know why I didn't feel like hurling - but I remember that back then I thought it was almost magical. _

_I don't think I told you that you stole my heart that day. I felt silly and stupid afterwards, but I was sort of mind blown by everything that had happened. And it was around that time when I realised that I would never want anyone but you._

_I don't know how to live without you, Alfred, I really don't know how._

_Please come back to me - it's killing me to be without you. My heart breaks every time it beats, my voice crackles whenever I try to speak and I haven't gone a day without crying. I need you, I need you more than I need air or food, more than I need a home or sleep, more than I need myself._

_I love you._

_Yours forever,_

_Arthur._

_**August 13, 20XX**_

_Dear Alfred,_

_I've been going through your clothes, giving away what I could bear to part with and deciding what I want to keep. _

_I also found your stack of porn in the drawer in your closet, and it made me smile a little. It was like a small reminder that I don't know everything about you and that there was still things you kept secret from me. It made me kind of happy, since what I loved about you was just that: your imperfections._

_I found that hideous Christmas sweater I made for you our first Christmas together, you know, the green one with tiny Christmas lights at the seams. I can knit a lot better now. A lot more even and with complicated patterns, but I know you loved that shirt even though you only wore it when you thought I couldn't see you. _

_Do you remember that time we went out and bought matching caps and mittens in January? I found those too. I didn't think you still had them, but it seems like you did._

_I also found your favourite costume, the dark blue one that's so silky smooth - the one you said you'd wear when you'd marry me. I'll save it if we ever find your body, even though I know that's not going to happen. You always loved the sea, so I suppose there's a certain cruel poetry in that it became your final resting place._

_I'm putting your clothes next to mine in my wardrobe so I can see them there (so I can touch them and think of you, imagining they rest on your body instead of the hanger and that's what I'm touching). I know you won't come back but I still hope. Miracles do happen sometimes, right?_

_Come back to me._

_Yours forever,_

_Arthur._

_**September 4, 20XX**_

_Dear Alfred,_

_I've started going to rehabilitation meetings for people like me, to try to get back into society and start working. Today we were going to speak about whatever it was that troubled us, and I could finally speak about you. _

_Not that you trouble me, Alfred, you've never been anything but amazing, even when I couldn't stand you or you were a bothering twit. You were always first and foremost amazing. But I could tell them how much I miss you. How miserable I have been since you went away and how I haven't felt that life was worth it when you weren't here. One of the other men there said something that gave me a new perspective though, and I am very thankful for that. He said that if I didn't want anything but you, I should honour you by living as I thought you would want me to. _

_He said he didn't think you would want me to be miserable and of course he was right, you wouldn't want that at all. He said that the best way to make you happy would be if I continued my life in a good way, if I worked on becoming happy and took care of myself. _

_He's right, isn't he? It's been such a long time and even though I won't get over losing you and even though the pain won't disappear, I shouldn't give up on life because you wouldn't want that. _

_You, with all the life and energy you had - if I can't have you, I can at least keep your spirit inside me, I can at least let you live through my actions and not repress the only way you can live now. I will never forget your spirit and love for life, and the way you made everyone happy and could just light up a room with your mere presence. _

_I'm not going to let you down, I promise. Even if I don't know what it is you want me to do I know you want me to be happy, because that's what I would have wanted for you if our situations were reversed._

_I'm going to go to bed now, and I'll try not to cry tonight. I've managed a few times, to fall asleep of exhaustion instead of sadness, remembering the way you were and not imagining what your last memories could have been. _

_Were you scared, when the ship went down?_

_Was I the last thing you thought of?_

_Yours, _

_Arthur._

_**November 20, 20XX**_

_Dear Alfred,_

_I was at a party yesterday. It was nothing special, just a gathering for the rehab and the patients, to celebrate how far our group have come. I have gotten a job too, by the way, at the supermarket where we used to shop all the time because they always had the best prices. It's nothing special, just restocking and removing things that are out of date, but it's a start._

_However, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. I've met someone, Alfred, Someone I think I like. It feels horrible because I am and will always be yours, but since you're… you're not here, and I'm so lonely…_

_Is it okay that I am happy with someone else? Is it alright that I move on, just a little? He's a sweetheart, but nothing at all like you. I think you'd like him, perhaps, if things had been different. His name is Francis and he's great at cooking. He's a total twat but he makes me smile even when I just want to cry. He lost his sister recently, and he said we could try to cope together, since he thinks we both deserve someone who can take care of us. He doesn't like burgers or superhero movies, and maybe it's best that way, so that I don't try to see you in him._

_I think I might be able to do this, Al, and it scares me. It's scary that I can imagine a life without you, since I don't want to be without you at all. But there's no reason to pull myself down deeper than I already am and I start to realise that now, and neither you nor I wants that to happen. _

_I'm not dating Francis or anything, we're just… taking care of each other. I hope you're not angry with me for that, please don't be. If you had been here I wouldn't even have looked his way, I promise. _

_I miss you,_

_Arthur._

_**January 14, 20XX**_

_Dear Alfred,_

_I think I'm falling for him. Francis, I mean. He took me out on a date at New Years Eve and I slept in his bed. He snores pretty loudly, it was almost like he was whistling everytime he exhaled. He've made me stop thinking about you so much, and I think I need that._

_Christmas was nice this year. I spent it with Francis and his best friend. Gilbert. You would've liked him too I think. Matthew was there too, arriving pretty late since he had been at a party just before. He's doing very good, and I'm glad to see that. On second thought you might not have liked Gilbert that much after all, since he spent half the evening flirting with Mattie, and the second half with snogging him._

_I probably won't write to you so much more, Al. My therapist says that I am in the final stage of grieving: acceptance - and I think she's right. It feels better every day, even though I'm still a bit messed up I'm feeling better than I have in a long time. I'm starting to think that maybe you can have more than one big love in your life, if you're lucky. _

_There is a new spark in the air, and it seems like spring will come early this year, or at least stands at ready on the doorstep. _

_And I have to get over you and keep on with my life, because…_

_You're dead._

_I'm sorry, but there's not much more to say. I'm not a wreck anymore and I don't need to cling onto the memory of you. Not anymore._

_Arthur._

_**June 5, 20XX**_

_Dear Alfred,_

_I've sold our house and moved in with Francis. _

_I am happy._

_I'm glad I got my time with you, but I have moved on. I won't write to you again._

_Rest in Peace,_

_Arthur._

There was one more note, a small piece of paper that said; 'I'm sorry', dated August 7th. It was dented from dried water (tears, he guessed). Alfred spinned the chair around and looked at Arthur, who stood in the doorway, tears still silently flowing steady down his cheeks.

"What's this?" Alfred said softly, holding up the note so the Brit could see.  
"...It's from when Francis and I first… you know..." Arthur whispered, not bearing to utter the last words. He didn't need to, though, Alfred understood and Arthur could see that he did.

Everything was completely still for a minute, the former lovers standing as strangers when time had brought together what had once been ripped apart, only to realise that the pieces were too torn, too bruised, formed by so many other things than the other, that they neither fit, nor seemed like they ever had.

"Are you angry?" Arthur finally whispered, breaking the thick silence that had formed around them. Alfred shook his head because how could he be? He was confused, distorted, shocked and destroyed deep down to his innermost core, but how could he blame Arthur for searching for love when he had not been there to give it to him? It was completely sensible, expected even, that Arthur would have moved on when he had thought Alfred to be dead for over two years - yet the thought hadn't hit Alfred even once when he had made his way back.

All he had thought of was Arthur, how he'd welcome him, take him in his arms and then desperately - tenderly, make love to him.

"So you're over it… over us?" Alfred asked. He had meant to keep a steady voice as he spoke but it broke halfway through the sentence - which made him really irritated at himself. He was supposed to look strong; he had gotten back alive from solitude at an island for fucks sake! He had accepted help from some Russian (!) - that's how desperate he had been. But he now realised that none of that could even compare to how terrible it felt to have Arthur getting over them and moving on from everything that Alfred had fought so hard to come back to.

"I… I've moved on, Alfred. It's been more than two years for crying out loud!" Arthur finally snapped, his voice pitching unsteadily at the end. "Did you want me to have spent them alone and miserable?" he asked more softly, his question hung heavily in the air between them and Alfred felt oh so guilty. Of course he didn't want Arthur to be alone - but at the same time the selfish part of him didn't want Arthur in the arms of someone else. He didn't want someone else to comfort his precious Arthur and in some sick way he wished he hadn't gotten over him.

"Of course I don't want you to be alone and miserable!" Alfred replied, almost desperately. "I just… I wish none of this had happened…" He gave a relentless sigh, leaning back in the chair and pretending to skim over the last letter again, its words already burnt into his mind more or less. _´...I'm glad I got my time with you, but I have moved on...´_

There was a soft knock on the door to the small but tidy office, and a handsome man with shoulder-length blond hair in a ponytail and a slight stubble on his chin stood in the doorway. Alfred had to fight the urge to run up to him and strangle him with that stupid fashionable tie around his neck.

"Is everything alright?" he asked with a silly, posh accent, looking directly at Arthur, cautiously avoiding Alfred's glare. Alfred wanted to scream at him to get out of the house, leave _his_ _Arthur_ alone and never ever dare to _think_ about touching him, but he knew that was illogical. His Arthur had died the day the ship sank, and even though Alfred had miraculously survived he should have known his lover wouldn't. This Arthur was Francis'. Francis who had saved him from his despair and helped him up, showed him a future when Arthur had been too deep down to be able to see one himself. Francis had been Arthur's saviour. But who was going to save Alfred?

Arthur nodded in response, not meeting any of their eyes but instead staring down into the floor. The strange feeling of Arthur being uncomfortable in his presence hit Alfred like the lightning, and without really being able to help it, he looked at Francis, obvious confusion plastered on his face. He had never been one to hide his feelings, really.

"Tell me if there's something you need," Francis said softly, still looking at Arthur. Then he met Alfred's gaze and added, "You too," before he left the room and closed the door with a gentle motion, almost inaudible. The American fought the urge to run after him and give him a fistful of what _he_ needed, but of course he stayed put in the room, thinking of how hurt Arthur would be if he did.

After a long, agonising silence Alfred spoke up again. "Do you want me to go?" he asked, glancing at the other. Arthur looked up at him, a single tear slowly making its way down his pale cheek, which was flustered from hopelessness.

"I'm really tired Alfred… Do you think you could come back tomorrow instead?"

With a short, joyless smile Alfred nodded and then quickly getting up from the chair and walked out of the room, grabbing his jacket and shoes before he exited the house and took a deep breath from the fresh air outside.

It was spring - April, if he remembered correctly. The weather was pleasant: warm but not enough to be sweaty, and Alfred recalled that this was kind of like the day they had their first date, Arthur and he. He tried to focus on what the future had in store for him, but in reality he was just trying his best to push all his feelings away. He thought about it as he made his way to his current home, a sofa in the house of his saviour, Ivan Braginski.

_(Thank you so much for reading! It is my first story in years and I will update as soon as possible! Thanks to WednesdayThunder (check her out on AO3 and Tumblr because she's awesome) for betaing and being awesome.)_

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